


Full Circle

by Spiral_Rush



Series: Ecstasy AU [3]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Cycle of Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Interrupted Sex, M/M, Panic Attack, Revenge, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26129476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiral_Rush/pseuds/Spiral_Rush
Summary: After Billy is overwhelmed by a traumatic memory, Frank offers to help him get revenge on the man who hurt him when he was a child.***"That's all in the past," Billy said softly, more to himself than to Frank. “It’s over.”"But you still think about it.""I think about a lot of things.""You know, there's something I've been meaning to tell you," Frank began. Billy turned enough to look at him. Whatever it was sounded serious. For a moment, Billy wanted to kiss Frank deeply, push him back up on the bed and banish all of the questions and memories the only way he knew how.He wasn't expecting what Frank said next. "I think I found Arthur Walsh.""What?" All thoughts of resolving this crisis through sex dried up."That was his name, right?" Billy nodded and Frank went on. "Well, after you told me about him, I did some research. Tracked him down. He's out of prison. Got out last year."Billy studied Frank's face. "Why did you do that?" He knew but he wanted to hear Frank say it."I thought you might want to pay him back."
Relationships: Frank Castle/Billy Russo
Series: Ecstasy AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1396747
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Includes discussion of Billy’s childhood abuse, particularly his arm/shoulder injury, and the continuing emotional fallout from that.

Before leaving Quantico, Billy and Frank planned everything out. They went to two stores off-base, separately, and bought gloves and ski masks with cash. The attractive woman at the checkout jokingly asked Billy if he was going to rob a bank. He gave her his best smile and said he was going snowboarding.

Once they were in New York, they went up to Bensonhurst and studied the neighborhood. Found the house they were looking for, scoped out the front and rear entrances. Picked out an alley where they could park and watch the building. Walked the route to the nearest subway stop in case they needed to use it. 

In the evening, they ate in a mom-and-pop Chinese restaurant on the corner a half block down from their target, sitting by the window to see what the outside activity was like after dark. The street was mostly residential without any bars or trendy eateries to draw crowds, so once rush hour was over there weren't that many people out and about, even on a Friday night.

The next night, they came back. A delivery truck was blocking the alley they wanted to park in, so they cruised the streets until it left. Then they settled in to watch. As the darkness deepened, no lights came on in the house, not even the flicker of a TV. It seemed Arthur Walsh wasn't home.

That was fine. Billy shifted in the passenger seat, mentally preparing for a long night. Both he and Frank could be patient when they needed to be. He'd waited years for payback. He could wait a few more hours.

***

This whole revenge scheme had started with one of Billy’s by now regular visits to Frank’s room. That night, Frank must have been feeling lazy because he let Billy set the pace. That was fine with Billy. He had a good imagination.

Billy was in the mood to tease. He lavished Frank with light touches and kisses, never spending too long on one part of the body. Frank stretched out on the bed underneath him, enjoying the attention. The one spot Billy carefully avoided was Frank's cock.

When Frank was hot and bothered enough to try to rub against him, Billy pulled away. "Oh, no, you don't," he said.

Frank tugged on his hand. “Come over here.”

"Nope.”

“You want me to say please? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"That's not going to cut it." Frank tried to grab him but he was ready and evaded. Billy slapped Frank’s hand lightly. “None of that.”

“Oh, come on.” Billy shook his head and Frank asked, “What do you want?”

“Hmm. Let’s see.” Furrowing his brow, Billy pretended to think about it for a second. “I want you to beg me.”

"You want me to beg?"

"That's what I said. Try to pay attention, Frankie." When Frank laughed, Billy said, "I'm not kidding. If you want it, you got to beg for it."

Frank smirked, making a show of looking at Billy's stiffened cock. "Why would I beg you for something _you_ want?"

"Because I said so. Now fucking beg me."

Frank laughed again. But another sound overrode it in Billy's ears. He heard, perfectly clearly, Arthur's voice. _Now fucking beg me._

"Bill?" 

Billy looked up, startled. Frank was kneeling on the floor next to him. Hadn’t they been on the bed? He distinctly remembered that Frank had been lying underneath him. How the hell did they end up on the floor?

Frank was looking at Billy like he wanted to call for a Corpsman. He asked, “You okay?" 

They had been fooling around, enjoying themselves, and then…

_Now fucking beg me._

Why did Billy say _that_? A fragment of a memory had dislodged from some shadowy corner of his mind. He hadn’t even remembered those words until they came out of his own mouth. 

Arthur had already broken his arm. But that wasn’t enough. He pulled and twisted until white hot pain shot through Billy’s shoulder. _Do you want me to stop?_ Billy cried and screamed, years of carefully never showing pain dissolved in an instant. _You want me to stop, you beg me._ Billy did beg but it wasn’t good enough to make up for picking up that bat and swinging it. _Now fucking beg me._

And somehow Billy and Frank ended up on the floor. What the fuck had just happened? Billy scanned Frank’s familiar room: bed, desk, chair, bookshelf. Frank himself, who was looking more and more worried with every passing second.

Billy had no idea what to say but he had to say something. Taking a breath, he belatedly answered, “I’m okay.”

“What’s going on?”

“I— don’t know.”

Frank looked so concerned, Billy leaned over and kissed his cheek. He'd love to go back to what they were doing but his libido had gone from 60 to 0 in two seconds flat. It wasn't bouncing back any time soon.

"I..." he began and stopped. What, he had a panic attack? Or a flashback? He hadn’t had a vision of Arthur or been convinced he was somehow back at Ray of Hope. It was like he passed out for a few seconds without passing out. “Sorry," he muttered and started to get up, embarrassed at his loss of control. The evening was ruined so he might as well go.

Frank laid a hand on his shoulder. Fortunately, it was the right one. Billy wasn’t sure he could take anyone touching the left right now, not even Frank. It felt sore, which it hadn’t earlier. Had he banged it and not noticed? Sometimes when he’d been awake for 36 hours or more straight, he found himself unable to remember the last few minutes. That had never happened to him any other time. It worried him.

“You don't have to leave,” Frank said quietly, distracting him from concern over his own mental state. Billy shrugged, unsure what he wanted other than for this not to have happened in the first place. Frank moved his hand down to Billy’s arm, which was much more comfortable, and said, “You jumped off the bed like it was on fire.”

"You didn't do anything, Frank.”

"Okay."

Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Frank was waiting patiently for some kind of explanation, so finally Billy said, "I just thought of something that's, uh, kind of a big turn off."

“I’m sorry."

" _I'm_ sorry," Billy said. "Here I am ruining the mood with..." he waved a hand. He wished he could just banish all this with a flick of his wrist.

“It’s no big deal."

Billy forced a smile. "This could be the last chance you ever have to get laid. You could get hit by a bus tomorrow."

"Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

Billy inhaled deeply. His immediate answer was _Are you fucking crazy? Of course not._ "Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

"I thought of that guy who volunteered at the group home."

"The stickball guy?"

Well, that was one way to think of him. It was kind of funny, 'the stickball guy.' Like he was a monster from some ridiculous urban legend kids told to scare each other. Except stickball guy was real. “Yeah."

"What made you think of him?"

"Nothing you did," Billy said.

“Okay.”

Billy didn't want to admit that he did the thing that reminded him of Arthur. "I just remembered something he said to me when he hurt my shoulder.”

Frank shifted from kneeling to sitting and slid up close behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. They sat like that for a while, the only sound in the room the tick of the clock on the wall and their breathing. Frank stroked his side. At first, Billy wasn’t sure if the monotonous rhythm was soothing or annoying. Soothing, he decided.

"That's all in the past," Billy said softly, more to himself than to Frank. “It’s over.”

"But you still think about it."

"I think about a lot of things."

"You know, there's something I've been meaning to tell you," Frank began. Billy turned enough to look at him. Whatever it was sounded serious. For a moment, Billy wanted to kiss Frank deeply, push him back up on the bed and banish all of the questions and memories the only way he knew how.

He wasn't expecting what Frank said next. "I think I found Arthur Walsh."

"What?" All thoughts of resolving this crisis through sex dried up. 

"That was his name, right?" Billy nodded and Frank went on. "Well, after you told me about him, I did some research. Tracked him down. He's out of prison. Got out last year."

Billy studied Frank's face. "Why did you do that?" He knew but he wanted to hear Frank say it.

"I thought you might want to pay him back."

***

With Frank by his side, Billy watched Arthur's house. The day had been warm, but the evening was cool enough to be comfortable in the car with the windows cracked open. No one noticed them in the alley. People walked by regularly, busy with their phones or their dogs or each other, oblivious to the two men planning a violent attack in their midst. A woman passed by with a gray tabby on a leash, the cat occasionally stopping to sniff at things. Billy had never seen anyone walk a cat before. Frank leaned over the steering wheel, watching with an amused expression. He always did have a soft spot for animals. When they were in Iraq, he liked petting and playing with the semi-feral dogs and cats who gathered around troops to beg for food.

Billy waited in a state of relaxed awareness where he noticed everything but didn't expend energy thinking. It was calming, pleasant even, once you got used to it. There was a giant rat scuttling along the alley. There was a woman in scrubs walking up the stairs to a house. There was a cab letting a pair of elderly men out onto the sidewalk. Life flowed around him. He was aware of it but not concerned about anything except his goal.

There were millions of people in New York. But there was only one Billy cared about right now. And he hadn't shown himself yet.

***

Billy leaned back against the side of Frank’s bed, Frank next to him. “We can't kill him," he said.

"I didn't say anything about killing him."

"But you wouldn't feel bad if we did."

"No. Would you?"

"I'd feel really bad going to prison for it." Arthur had done enough damage to his life. Billy wasn't willing to risk losing his freedom over that man.

"But, you know, we wouldn't have to kill him. We could just tune him up."

“Like he’s a guitar.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

For a long time, Billy had thought about doing this himself. When he was a kid, he was no match for a grown man even with a weapon (as he learned the hard way). By the time he was big enough, strong enough, to pull it off, he found out Arthur had gone to prison. And then he joined the Marines and left all that behind: Arthur, the other guys like him. From time to time, he thought that if Arthur ever got out, if the bastard didn’t die inside, he would pay a visit. 

But then life went on. He went overseas, came back, started making rank, started making plans, started thinking about the future instead of the past. Confronting Arthur became mostly an idle revenge fantasy, a scenario to vent his anger through when the pressure got too much. Now Frank was talking about making it a reality. But this wasn’t like lighting into some asshole in a bar who ran his mouth off at you. This was personal. 

Frank rested his head on Billy’s shoulder. “Think about it,” he said.

“Oh, I have been thinking about it,” he said. Now he had what he’d never had before, someone who wanted to back him up. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. For a second, he imagined breaking Arthur’s arm, then wrenching it until the shoulder dislocated audibly, the tendons ripping. Imagined Frank watching, enjoying it, and not just because it would be delivering vengeance on someone who deserved it. That was why Billy wouldn’t want anyone else with him for this except Frank. _Now you beg me to stop, motherfucker. See how it feels._

Billy cleared his throat. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay.” Without missing a beat, Frank straightened up and said, “There’s a long weekend break coming up. How about then? We’ll have time to go to New York, stake the place out.”

Once a decision was made, of course Frank would want to get down to business as soon as possible. But Billy was still processing the fact that they had agreed to do this. Still, Frank was right. Four days was plenty of time. And if they waited until they were done with their training, who knew when they’d get another opportunity? They could go overseas again and not be back stateside for a year or more. Arthur was an old man now. He could die before Billy got a chance to confront him.

“That sounds good to me,” Billy said.

“Right.” Frank paused, then said, “I guess I should say before we get started, I’ll follow your lead on this. I mean, I’m ready to be there every step of the way, but if you want to do something yourself, I understand. Just give me the word and I’ll back off. This is your show, Bill.”

“I appreciate that. But, you know, if I wanted to do this alone, I would have done it already.”

“Okay.” Frank nodded. “So we should get some supplies…”

***

It was almost midnight. Nobody had walked down the street for half an hour. Where the hell was Arthur? Had he gone for a weekend in the Catskills? Was there a party going on for elderly ex-cons down at the rec center? Frank opened the bag of beef jerky he’d brought and took some, then offered it to Billy, who accepted. In the car, they didn’t have to worry about every little noise they made giving them away. Still, neither of them said anything. It was part force of habit — waiting in ambush was not the time for casual chit chat — and part not having anything to say, at least for Billy. 

He was wondering if maybe Frank had gotten an old address, or if Arthur had gone somewhere for the night, when he spotted a figure approaching. Tall, broad shoulders, white hair, but Billy couldn’t see the face clearly from this distance. He got out his binoculars. 

“That him?” Frank asked quietly.

Billy watched the man walk down the street on the other side. Watched him stop at the house they’d been watching and climb the steps, open the door. He looked so much older than Billy remembered. If he’d seen the man in passing, he might not have recognized him. It had been seventeen years, after all. Billy looked very different, too. He wondered if Arthur would recognize him if he showed his face. Not that he was planning to do that. Part of him wanted to, to shout his name, to carve it into Arthur’s skin so that the man knew who had come to deliver a little taste of vengeance. But that wasn’t the plan. Billy would stick to the plan.

“Yeah,” Billy answered. “That’s him.”

Arthur let himself into his house. A moment later, a light turned on on the ground floor.

Frank nodded at Billy. They slipped on their gloves and masks. The sound of the car doors closing was the loudest noise on the entire block. At the mouth of the alley, they stopped briefly to make sure no one else was around. The houses on either side of Arthur’s were dark. The road was empty. Satisfied there weren’t any witnesses, they crossed the street and climbed the stairs, Billy in front.

From inside came the faint sound of a television. They positioned themselves so they couldn’t be seen in the peephole. Frank knocked, loud and hurried, like he was looking for help. Billy held his breath. Arthur was on the other side of that door. The man who all too often still troubled his dreams was here in the flesh. He imagined Arthur opening the door, the two of them forcing their way inside, his fists striking the old man’s face...

Even as Billy visualized his long-awaited revenge, he felt that something wasn’t right. Of course, them being there wasn’t _right_. They were vigilantes, delivering unsanctioned punishment. Arthur had paid his debt to society. But he had never paid his debt to Billy. This was something Billy had to do for himself, wasn’t it?

The volume on the TV inside lowered. Billy imagined Arthur sitting in an armchair, cocking his head, trying to figure out if someone had banged on his door or if he’d heard some other noise. Frank knocked again.

Billy’s heart was racing. What was wrong with him? He tried to regulate his breathing to calm himself but it wasn’t working. Panic crept in. Was he afraid of this pathetic old man? The thought disgusted him. Billy wasn’t a child anymore. He was taller than Arthur now. He was a Marine, for Christ’s sake. And he wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t stop seeing Arthur wrenching his shoulder until he screamed. Phantom pain shot through him underneath the old scar, shocking and raw enough to knock the wind out of him.

They had to leave. He couldn’t do this.

Billy managed to inhale and said quietly, “We need to go.”

Frank turned his head. “What?”

“We need to _go_. I can’t…”

Footsteps sounded from within. Arthur was closing in. They had to leave.

“I _can’t_ ,” he repeated, breathing fast and shallow. He squeezed his fists to keep himself from ripping his mask off to get air.

For a moment, he thought Frank might argue. But Frank just gave a short nod and started down the stairs. Billy followed. They darted across the street back to the car. A moment after they got inside, the door to Arthur’s house cracked open. The man stood there, peering around in the darkness, silhouetted by light behind.

“Drive,” Billy said, yanking his mask off.

“Are you— ?“

“Just drive, _please_.”

Frank started the engine and pulled out onto the street.

***

Billy wasn’t sure how long they drove. Traffic at this time was light except for a few areas with nightlife destinations that were clogged with vehicles, mostly taxis. Frank detoured down quiet side streets, avoiding the crowds. He finally stopped the car at the entrance to a park with a view of the river. Billy got out and walked to the edge. A cool breeze blew against his face and he breathed deep, filling his lungs. The park looked new. He was sure he had never been here before. For a while, he walked along the bank, swinging between reviewing everything that had happened tonight and, when that got to be too much, letting his mind go blank, just staring at the silhouettes of buildings against the night sky and their lights reflected on the dark water.

He owed an explanation to Frank. But what was he supposed to say? Everything inside his head right now was scattered, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that had been dumped on the floor. He’d turn one thought around and around, trying to fit it together with the rest of them but nothing made sense. Billy had come full circle with Arthur, but now that he was the one in a position to dole out violence, he couldn’t do it. Was he afraid of Arthur after all these years? Frank would lose all respect for him if he turned tail and ran from a threat when he could fight. Hell, Billy wouldn’t respect himself. But that didn’t feel quite right. It was like his desire for payback had just collapsed, like a blown up building. What had set the explosion off? He wished he could live his life without having to figure shit like this out. 

Billy double backed and sat next to Frank on a bench not far from the car. Neither of them had said anything since they left the alley. Times when there was no one else around in New York City were rare but this was one. It was just the two of them on the riverfront. For a while, they sat together quietly. A boat passed by in the distance, too far away for Billy to see more than white and red lights moving at a steady pace against the current. He was so used to going to the old baseball diamond near Ray of Hope when he couldn’t stop thinking about things, it was weird to be somewhere else. It was also a bit weird to have Frank with him, even though he appreciated the company. 

Eventually, he stopped trying to figure out what to say and just started talking. “I couldn’t do it,” Billy finally said. “I just couldn’t do it.” 

“It’s all right.”

“I don’t forgive him.” Billy wanted to make that clear.

“Okay.”

“I just can’t do this. I wanted to.” He clenched a fist and relaxed it. “I didn’t drag you all the way out here planning to bail.”

“You didn’t drag me here. Bill, you don’t need to apologize to me.”

He may not need to apologize but he felt the urge to explain, maybe more to himself than to Frank. “Before we left, I found something out.”

“What was that?”

“I, um, I wanted to know what Arthur’s sentence was. How long he got for what he did. It was ten years.” He rubbed his hands against his jeans. “But that’s not all I found out. I started reading about the trial, you know, news reports. Once that first boy came forward, others did. Even people who knew Arthur years ago. There were thirteen who went to the police.” He had no idea how many there were who hadn’t.

Frank muttered, “I’m surprised somebody hasn’t already killed the bastard.”

Billy cleared his throat, almost coughing. “During the trial, Arthur, uh, he said _that_ happened to him when he was a kid.” Frank’s eyebrows shot up and Billy continued. “It was a priest, he said. He was eleven, twelve years old.” The same age Billy had been. The news had shocked him.

“Jesus.”

“I thought it didn’t matter. I mean, it didn’t make me less angry. I think it made me more angry. He should _know_. He should have known what he was doing. And he went and did it anyway.” Billy took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. His shoulder hadn’t hurt for years but it was throbbing tonight. When he could, he opened his eyes and went on. “I was still going to go through with it right up until I was at the door. But I just…” He hadn’t lost his nerve, exactly. Wasn’t the truth supposed to be clear? Why did this feel like stumbling over rough terrain in the dark?

The pain in his shoulder flared, distracting him. It wasn’t real. Well, it wasn’t caused by anything physical, at least. When he was a teenager, it had hurt for a long time after it was supposed to be healed. He finally got it examined, had an X-ray even. Nobody could find anything wrong with it. The pain was mental or emotional or whatever. It still hurt. Even after all these years, it still _hurt_. And suddenly he knew what had happened tonight. 

“But it occurred to me,” he said slowly, getting a handle on the idea in his mind, “that nothing I did to him was going to hurt him like he hurt me. Even if we killed him… I just wanted him to feel what I feel. But the thing is, he already _did_. He knew and did it anyway.” Billy sighed, weary. The question on his mind now was one he’d often pondered: why had Arthur done that to him? He seemed further than ever from any kind of answer. It seemed like the more he knew, the less he understood. There were a lot of things Billy would do — he’d already killed and didn’t feel particularly bad about it — but he’d never do _that_. “And if I can’t get what I want here, there’s no point, you know. The whole thing would just be hollow. I’d be seeing him again,” Arthur’s face floated before his eyes and he blinked to clear it away, “and dredging all this shit up and all for nothing. All for _nothing_. So I couldn’t do it.”

Keeping his gaze on the dark water, Billy waited for Frank’s reaction. After a long moment, Frank asked, “Do you want me to do it?” 

Billy looked at Frank. His jaw was tense, his eyes hard. Frank being angry on his behalf was kind of reassuring. Right now, Billy just felt empty, like his core had been dug out and thrown into the river.

Frank continued, “I’ll go back and take care of him. You don’t even have to be there. I’ll drop you off at the hotel.” They hadn’t wanted to use any of the usual places they stayed at when in New York, places that belonged to Frank’s relatives or family friends or fellow service members, for this trip, so they’d rented a cheap room and paid in cash.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah.” Frank said it casually, like he was offering to pick up beer when he went to the store.

For a moment, Billy considered it, but he shook his head. “No. I want to be done with it.” Assuming he ever could be done with it.

“You sure?”

Billy was certain Frank was feeling a little let down right now. He’d gotten ready to work and then had the mission aborted at the last second. That always left you keyed up. “I’m sure.” 

“All right.”

“You okay?”

Frank stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned against the back of the bench. Billy understood perfectly. If you weren’t going to act, you might as well relax. “I’m good,” he said. “I said I’d follow your lead and I meant that. If it’s not worth it to you, it’s not worth it.”

The thing that would make it worth it would be getting back what Arthur took from him. But that was impossible. Certain things, once they were gone, were gone for good. Billy couldn’t even put a name on exactly what Arthur had taken from him. It wasn’t innocence. Having grown up half on the street and half in state care, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been innocent. But before Arthur, he’d had a belief in his own abilities, his own worth, that despite everything, poverty and abandonment and the cruelty of adults, remained unbreakable. And Arthur broke that. He stopped playing baseball because he couldn’t even dream about being a pro player anymore. His skills hadn’t changed — he could still hit and pitch and run — but he knew that would never happen for him, no matter how talented he was. The good things in life weren’t for kids like Billy Russo. 

Well, he would prove everyone — Arthur, his mother, all the smug assholes who thought they were better than him because they were lucky enough to be born into the right families — wrong. He would have everything he ever wanted someday. In the real world, poor orphans didn’t get rewarded for virtue and hard work like they did in fairy tales. If they got rewarded at all, it was for being smart and ruthless. And Billy was both of those things.

Frank added, “I’m not going to lie, I’d love to punish him for what he did. But this isn’t about what I want right now, you know. If it’s going to make things worse for you…”

“I don’t know if it would make anything worse,” Billy said. “It’s not going to make anything better. I guess I haven’t found the thing yet that would really do that.”

“Better how?”

He shrugged. “If it stopped hurting whenever I thought about it, that would be nice.” Billy dealt with that by not thinking about it, but sometimes it invaded his thoughts despite his best efforts. “It’s too bad you can’t shoot memories. That’d be a job for after getting out of the service. Bad memory sniper.”

Frank snorted. “We’d be drowning in work.”

“We’d be _rich_.” Billy forced a smile, which was easier while he was thinking about having money.

“You’d have an entire closet full of fancy suits.”

“I’d have an entire freaking house full of fancy suits. I wouldn’t even live there. It’d just be suit storage.”

Shaking his head, Frank said, “C’mon, you’d need a warehouse. One right on the river.”

“I could get my suits delivered by boat every day.”

“By helicopter.”

“Now that’s a good idea.” The two of them laughed. It felt good. A bit of the weight Billy had been carrying all night slid off. “You want to get out of here?” he asked.

Frank stood up and raised his arms over his head in a stretch. “Let’s go.”

***

Frank was hungry (Frank was almost always hungry) so they went to an all-night diner across the street from their hotel. At this hour, the only other customers were a group of men of varying ages in sanitation uniforms sitting in a long booth. Billy didn’t think he had an appetite until the smell of hot coffee and frying bacon made his stomach growl. They both got eggs, bacon, and toast. Frank ate his food with just some salt and pepper and drank his coffee black. Billy added hot sauce to his eggs, butter and grape jelly to his toast, and cream and sugar to his mug. He could do without those things without fussing but if they were freely available, he was taking advantage. 

They ate most of their meal without saying much. Then Frank asked, while neatly dividing a fried egg into thirds with his fork, “You feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Billy took a sip of coffee. He did feel better, like he was back in the world and not wandering lost in his own memories and fears. “Nothing a little R&R won’t fix. Get my head clear before we go back.” Frank still looked concerned, so Billy added, “I am fine. I will be fine. It’s not like I got shot.”

“I’m surprised you can be so calm about everything.”

“Calm’s not really the word for it. I’m just tired.” Tired not just from tonight but from all the other nights he’d spent dealing with painful memories. Half smiling, he said, “You still want to beat the shit out of this guy, don’t you?”

“Yeah. But I’ll, uh, restrain myself.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Your reputation for violence will remain intact.” Frank scoffed. Billy dragged the edge of his toast through a bit of egg yolk and took a bite. “Anyway, I appreciate, you know, what you’ve done.” He waved a hand to encompass everything, starting on that night he’d made his first drug-induced confession. Frank had listened, kept things in confidence, helped Billy plan to get revenge, even if that ended up not happening. 

“It’s no big deal.”

The waitress stopped by to refill their coffees. When she was gone, Billy said, “I got to admit, when I first met you, I never would have thought you’d be—” He searched for the word, rejecting ‘sensitive’ and ‘sympathetic’ and finally leaving it unsaid. “You seemed like you were 100% asshole.”

“I’m 99% asshole.” Billy gave a short laugh and Frank continued, “The other 1%, that’s my mom’s doing.”

“Yeah? Tell me about her.” Frank didn’t talk about his parents often so Billy was curious. And honestly, he would be glad to have something to distract him from the thoughts still lurking in the back of his own head.

Finished with his food, Frank leaned against the back of the booth. “When I fucked up, my dad, he would get angry and yell. He never, you know, hurt me, but that was what he knew how to do. Your kid does something stupid, you shout. He would always point at me.” Frank wagged his index finger. “That made me so mad. I hated that finger. But my mom, she always talked to me. I mean, she got frustrated. She used to mutter to herself in Italian when I did something extra terrible.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“She didn’t really speak the language but she picked up some phrases from her grandparents and their friends.” He smiled slightly for a moment. “I think if she hadn’t done that, spent so much time trying to get through to me, I probably would have killed somebody when I was in high school.”

Billy supposed the main thing holding him back from killing someone in high school was not wanting to go to prison. That and maintaining his reputation as a fun, carefree charmer. One who would beat the shit out of you if you pushed him. But if you didn’t push him, Billy was a pleasant guy. He was kind of amazed such a thin barrier had held back his rage for so long.

He asked, “What did she say?”

Frank looked at his empty plate, not responding for a few seconds. “Just, you know, don’t take your problems out on other people. Treat them the way you would want to be treated. You can’t just tell people you love them. You have to show it.”

Having gotten started, Frank shared details of what his mother had been like. Mrs. Castle loved to read. Every week, she was at the library getting more books. She would read almost anything if it caught her interest somehow: history, science fiction, mystery, romance, poetry, classics. She read to Frank every night when he was young. Even when he was a teenager, she’d sometimes read him bits from books she thought he’d be interested in. He said, “She had a pretty good idea of what I’d like. Sometimes I’d sneak the book and read it myself.”

“Why did you sneak around to read your mom’s books?”

“Because I didn’t want her to know she still had an influence on me. You know how it is. Teenage tough guy wannabe doesn’t want to do things with his mother.”

Billy had no idea what that was like but he didn’t feel like bringing that up right now. 

Mrs. Castle loved cats but was severely allergic to them and would coo over but carefully not touch the next door neighbor’s cat. She was always trying to recreate her grandmother’s homemade pasta sauce, which had no written recipe, but never felt she got it quite right even though Frank thought every experiment was delicious. She was fashion conscious and had a talent for tracking down designer clothing for cheap from thrift stores, occasionally going all the way out to Connecticut to shop.

“Oh, I like that,” Billy said.

“I figured you would.”

Billy couldn’t resist adding, “It’s too bad she didn’t teach you how to dress properly.” 

Frank gave him a hard stare. “You talking shit about my mother?”

“No. I am talking shit about _you_.”

Frank dropped the murderous look. “Glad we cleared that up.”

“Well, I’m sorry I never got to meet her. She sounds cool.”

“I miss her.”

“If I’d had a mom like that, I’d miss her, too.”

Frank shifted on his seat and rubbed his hands together. “Do you, uh, know where your mom is?”

“Nah. She disappeared after she gave me up.”

“You ever think about looking for her?”

“Sometimes. But I don’t even know if she’s still alive. And homeless drug addicts who drift from city to city are kind of hard to find.” 

Billy took another long sip of coffee. He would never admit this to anyone, not even Frank, but he had a fantasy of tracking his mother down after becoming rich. Once he found her, he would show her that he managed to be somebody despite everything, that she was wrong to toss him away like trash. Their reunion played out differently depending on his mood. Sometimes he imagined her being so impressed she regretted everything, declared she loved him, and begged forgiveness. That was pure daydreaming, he knew, but he couldn’t help thinking about it. Other times, she told him to fuck off and went back to her meth. Then he could walk away, finally free of ever having to think about her again, the last thin thread connecting them cut. He had a hard time imagining her as having gotten clean over the years, but maybe she was sober. Maybe she was sober and had another family. Honestly, that possibility pissed him off. What did these other kids have that he didn’t to make her kick a lifelong drug habit for them?

Finishing his coffee, he put the mug down and set those thoughts aside. Being jealous of hypothetical half-siblings was getting into weird territory. “It probably wouldn’t end well if I did find her,” he said.

“Do you remember her?”

Billy rearranged the silverware on his empty plate. “A little. Just bits and pieces, you know.” There was one clear memory of his mother standing in a yard talking to a man. Billy must have been three or four. He had gone up to her for something and she kicked him away, knocking him down. The man had laughed. 

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Promise me one thing, Frank. That you won’t go looking for her on my behalf.” Billy wasn’t upset at Frank for finding Arthur. But his mother, that was a whole different, way more complicated issue. 

Frank held up his hands. “Wasn’t even thinking about doing that. I was just wondering.”

Billy managed a grin. “You worried about what kind of mother-in-law you might have to deal with?”

Frank made a derisive noise. Just for fun, Billy added an extra detail to his fantasy of finding his mother and showing off his hard-won wealth: turning up with Frank as a couple. He had no idea if she would disapprove of him being with another man or be accepting. He didn’t really care. But the image gave him a genuine chuckle. Would they be more impressive to her in their dress uniforms? He also had no idea if his mother had any particular regard for veterans. At least Frank should wear his. Billy didn’t think he’d ever manage to get Frank into a good suit, even if he bought one for him.

“What’s so funny?” Frank asked.

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

Billy didn’t feel like explaining the whole thing, so he said, “I was just, uh, thinking about you in your dress blues.” He winked.

Frank shook his head. “You never stop.” 

Grinning, Billy asked, “Why should I?”

***

There were two double beds in their room so Frank could have had one all to himself. But he settled down behind Billy, draping an arm over his waist. The mattress was lumpy — this _was_ a crappy hotel — but it was nice not to be squeezed into a single. And for once, neither of them had to get up and leave. There wasn’t much of the night left but they could spend it together.

Warm and solid, Frank’s chest pressed against Billy. Frank kissed the back of his neck lightly.

“That’s nice,” Billy murmured, his eyes half closed. 

Another small kiss landed on his ear. “You like this?”

“Hm-mm.”

For a while, they just lay quietly. The pain in Billy’s shoulder was gone. It was surprising how much discomfort a decent meal and some peace and quiet could banish. Now all he needed was a good sleep and a hot shower in the morning and he’d be back to normal. As normal as he ever got, anyway.

Frank shifted, bringing his knees up behind Billy’s. A year ago, Billy would never have thought this would be happening. He had been convinced there was no way Frank Castle would return his desires, so he kept them to himself. But then something happened that night he accidentally took ecstasy. He still didn’t understand what had made Frank consider getting together with him but he would take it. Hell, maybe Frank just got tired of being lonely. 

After Billy came down from being drugged, he had been absolutely mortified by the things he said. _Because I want to be with someone I love for once in my goddamn life. I just want to know what that's like. And I don't love anybody else but you, so I'm sorry, but you're it, Frank._ Jesus, that was embarrassing. Losing control, showing his soft underbelly like that, was something Billy never would have done if he hadn’t been high out of his mind. The next morning, he’d considered taking off rather than face Frank. There was no way Frank would still respect him after that display of weakness. But Frank acted like it wasn’t a big deal. As though Billy had too much to drink and threw up and fell down — a normal level of making a fool of himself on leave — and not spent the night rambling incoherently about all the parts of his life story he kept private. (He was still mad at that fucking idiot kid for leaving his drugs in a place where other people could take them by accident. If the little shit hadn’t moved to Florida, Billy would pay him a visit this weekend.) But unlike other painful, humiliating events in his life, something good had managed to come out of this one. 

Frank’s breath brushed the back of his head. Billy realized with surprise that the two of them were breathing in sync. He wasn’t trying to do that. Frank was half asleep, so he wasn’t either. Was that a thing that happened when two people were lying together like this for a while? He didn’t usually stick around to cuddle after sex. It was better that way, to end things cleanly before anyone started getting romantic ideas and you ended up ruining fun memories with disappointment.

Billy didn’t want things to end cleanly with Frank. (If the two of them ever had a real falling out, they’d probably kill each other.) He didn’t want it to end at all. Only recently, Billy had said, _I knew us together would be good._ And them together was better than he had expected. In his experience, when people talked about love they were generally full of shit. It was a lie to get what they wanted. Or they thought they were in love but it was just lust. Or the whole thing was a messed up way to control someone else. What was going on between him and Frank was different. Frank wasn’t getting anything out of being with Billy except being with Billy. Other than the games they played in bed, Frank never tried to control Billy. Hell, Frank had let him decide what they did about Arthur to the point of calling the whole thing off at the literal last minute. A lot of people _liked_ Billy. He worked at making sure they did. Most of them only ever saw fun Billy, quick to crack a joke or flirt. The guys he served with, they saw that side of him plus badass Billy, the fighter, cool and deadly under pressure. But Frank was the only one who got a glimpse of the sides he kept to himself. Still, Frank stuck by him. His own mother hadn’t, yet Frank did. If that didn’t count as real love, he didn’t know what would.

But the thing was, everything did end eventually. 

There was the obvious ending: one or both of them dying. There was nothing Billy could do to prevent that other than be as good at his job as he could possibly be. But when someone’s number came up, it came up. There was also the threat of Frank getting back together with Maria as long as she was alive and single. Although Billy didn’t think that was likely, given the circumstances of their breakup. However, there was another potential source of problems for them down the road, one that worried him most of all.

Billy had plans. Curt told him once, “You really do think you’re destined for greater things, don’t you?” (Billy hadn’t been sure whether Curt thought that was a good thing or a bad thing.) Whenever Billy talked about his ambitions, Frank would mock him or, worse, ask questions that indicated he had reservations about it being a good idea. Yet Frank never seriously tried to talk Billy out of it. Did Frank not think he could do it? Because Billy would become a rich man or die trying. 

He hadn’t started out wanting to be a military contractor. When he was young, he thought his only option for money and power was organized crime. Billy could have gone down that path, too. He knew people who were on the fringes of that world. But he put that idea on hold because he needed to get out of New York for a while for his own sanity. Without money, family connections, or a scholarship, the military was the way to do it. He figured he’d serve for a few years, gain skills and experience — there was considerable overlap in the competencies required for successful military and criminal operations — and then when he left, he’d get into something lucrative. His ultimate goal of having his own outfit where he made a dazzling amount of money was the same. He just changed his area of interest. 

Billy didn’t see what the problem was him with making money off of war, real money, not the peanuts he was earning in the infantry. Why should people who were already from wealthy families be the only ones reaping a profit from the military industrial complex? But there was some ethical line there for Frank, who could get weird and stubborn about what he thought was right and wrong. If Billy wanted to keep what he had with Frank, he needed to avoid crossing that line, even if he didn’t understand why it was there. There was no point pretending that if Billy had to choose between his ambition and Frank, he wouldn’t choose his ambition. He loved Frank like he’d never loved anyone else. He’d take a bullet for the man. More than once, he almost had. Physical pain was worth it if it meant Frank being okay. Hell, Billy was used to pain. But Billy wouldn’t give up his chance at making something of himself, at having the kind of life he’d always dreamed of, for anything or anyone.

Well, Billy would have to make sure he never had to make that choice. He hadn’t been sure he could persuade Frank to become an officer but he did. The key to keeping Frank on your side was to convince him that he was ultimately doing good in the world. Frank needed that, to believe he could direct his desire for violence into protecting. If Billy was smart, he could have the world _and_ Frank Castle.

“You asleep?” Billy asked.

Frank made a noise that was neither a yes nor a no but indicated some level of consciousness.

Turning, Billy kissed Frank’s cheek. “Love you.”

Frank squeezed him and kissed the hinge of his jaw. “Love you, too.” Yawning deeply, he added, “Now let me get some sleep, for Christ’s sake.”

Billy yawned and closed his eyes. He needed to sleep himself. In the field, he got so exhausted he sometimes fell asleep standing, but when he was on leave, he tended to stay up, thinking. There was no point doing that tonight. Billy wasn’t going to achieve his dreams tomorrow (although he wished he could). When the time came, he would deal with Frank’s reactions to his goals. Right now, he had two more days in New York with Frank. He intended to enjoy them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading! I appreciate your kudos and comments. 😀


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